


The Unfortunate Tale of Becky Rosen's Husband

by raziella



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Big Brother Dean, Coda, Drugged Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e08 Time for a Wedding, First Time, Hallucifer, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Post-Hell Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Winchester Whump, Season/Series 07, Wincest - Freeform, this accidentally turned into Becky bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raziella/pseuds/raziella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam suffers the consequences of being drugged by a love potion while Lucifer is still messing with his head. It's a stressful couple of days.</p>
<p>Sam’s face does that weird smiling thing again and he half-laughs as he says: “No, nothing like that.” His hands go up to Dean’s shoulders again, clapping down in a firm grip that somehow anchors Sam, makes him able to say the next words that need to be said.</p>
<p>“I’m in love, and I’m getting married.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unfortunate Tale of Becky Rosen's Husband

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this story deals with non-con elements, cutting, depression, victim-blaming, rape-survivors, drugs and drinking. If any of these elements can be triggering to you, please stop reading. Take care of yourself.
> 
> After watching "In Time for a Wedding" I really wanted to do something with it. I think Becky is a really fun character and I laughed so many times during the episode. Somehow, as I thought about it, it turned into this, pretty dark shit. I think it's ridiculous that there are so many things not dealt with from that episode.  
> Also, this... went a bit beyond that.

“You can’t be serious!” Dean’s eyebrows are drawn together in anger and Sam watches dispassionately as a piece of lettuce falls from his burger.

“I just need a couple of days to myself to clear my head, Dean.”

“It’s not happening, I won’t let you”, Dean says immediately.

Sam stares him down for a couple of seconds. “Well, it’s lucky then that I’m not asking for your permission.”

“The hell you aren’t!” Dean’s voice has been rising progressively and by now a couple of the other patrons are looking their way. Sam is kind of surprised Dean’s instincts aren’t roaring at him to keep a low profile. “It’s our sacred Vegas week, you’re not going off on your own.”

They both know that’s not the problem, but until Dean admits it, Sam is quite all right to humor him. “Look, it’s fine. You can go to every strip club you know I wouldn’t step foot inside, drink yourself silly and sleep with a stripper, hell, sleep with three, and know I’m not gonna hassle you about it. In the meantime I go camping, find my center and I’ll be back before you know it. It’s a win-win.”

Dean glares at him and Sam admits he might have gone a bit overboard with the puppy-dog eyes.

“I ain’t letting you out in the wilderness alone with the Devil for company, Sam. End of discussion.” He marks his words by taking an enormous bite of his almost forgotten burger. It looks obscene.

Sam casts a glance at Lucifer who’s picking his nose. He notices Sam looking and raises his arms in an innocent gesture. Then he winks. Sam sighs. “Dean…”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I _need_ to do this.”

Dean takes a drag at his soft drink and stares at him. And keeps staring. It’s about to turn into one of their epic staring contests where whoever looks away first loses the argument, because clearly the logic behind one’s arguments is hidden in their eye sockets, when Dean rolls his eyes and sighs. It’s a win even before Dean opens his mouth.

“You have to check in every 24 hours. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of the desert, if I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to get you.”

Sam beams at him and Dean’s face makes a disgusted grimace. “Sure. I’ll even throw in a sexy selfie to keep you company when you start missing me too much.”

“Shut up and eat your burger.”

 

~*~

 

Sam looks at his watch as he cuts the engine outside the gas station. He’s running late but it’s probably fine still. The sun will be up a few hours more and after this quick stop for granola bars he will be off. If he’s lucky he’ll manage a couple of miles on the track before nightfall.

He’s browsing their snack aisles when he feels someone tap his shoulder. Surprised he didn’t feel their approach, he turns around and is suddenly face to face with no other than Becky Rosen, the slightly creepy fangirl that finally gave up her obsession with him to date Chuck. He plasters on a polite smile and greets her.

 

~*~

 

“So you’re hunting these leviathan things now?” Becky inquires, sipping her coffee and leaning forward. Sam feels it’s only fair to fill her in. If she, as a believer but not a Hunter, is made aware, she might make it through this unharmed. He leans back in his seat.

“Yeah, nasty un-killable fuglies from purgatory. Seriously, Becky, if you notice anyone acting strange, get away from them and don’t stop running.” Even as he says it he knows it’s probably pointless. There is no way of knowing they’re leviathan rather than your sweet neighbor Mrs. Robinson.

“Yeah, she’s probably gonna die, like all your friends have, Sam. I don’t know why you bother”, Lucifer comments as he picks up the salt shaker and starts sprinkling Sam’s coffee.

“Thanks, Sam. You’re always so nice.” It feels like an odd thing to say, considering they’ve only met a couple of times, and neither of them were entirely pleasant.

“Don’t you remember, Sammy-Sam. She’s read _all_ the books. She probably knows more about you than you do”, Lucifer cuts in and leans over and sniffs Becky’s hair. “Ugh, flowery…”

 “Sure”, he says and downs the rest of his cup. It’s still hot, he burns his tongue but he needs a reason to get going, a polite one. He gestures for the waitress, intending to at least pay for her order at the small café they’d stopped at.

“No, I mean that. I know you probably think I’m a bit nuts-“. He doesn’t refute this. “But I wanted to say I appreciate all that you’re doing. I mean, you saved the world”, she whispers. “And no one will ever even know.”

She’s not wrong, but that actually works to their advantage. He thinks of the demon deals, the blood drinking, the soullessness and, just lately, letting out the meanest of all the mean from God’s prison. They aren’t always heroes. If they ever are.

“Don’t forget about my Ruby girl. She really had you twisted around her little finger… Ah, I miss those times. Demons just aren’t the same anymore”, is Lucifer’s contribution.

Sam presses down on the scar in his hand and looks up at Becky. She smiles at him, compassion radiating from her eyes, and he suddenly feels that he is grateful for the sympathetic ear. She can really be very sweet.

The waitress hands him their bill and Sam finds himself suggesting they go somewhere to actually eat and Becky gives him an explosive smile. His chest flutters.

 

~*~

 

It’s late enough to be early and they are still dancing. The club is noisy like nothing Sam’s ever heard and the buzz of alcohol would normally make him wary but somehow it’s all fine. His hands are wrapped around Becky’s petite form and together they are swaying with the music. Her face is tucked into his neck and he is smelling her hair. It’s something flowery and he wishes it wasn’t.

“This feels so right!” she shouts in his ear.

He smiles at her and agrees. He pulls her in closer, enjoying the feel of her body against his. Her finger slips into his jeans and he pushes down the instinct to dislocate her wrist. Behind him Lucifer is making the other dancers perform a strip tease with their skin.

“Let me go grab something more to drink”, he suggests to her and she looks a little surprised but nods all the same.

When he gets to the bar he orders two tequila shots. He hasn’t drunk tequila since he was at Stanford, and then only once because he ended up with a hangover worse than death and now he hates the taste. Not tonight, though. Tonight he’s on his fourth shot and he’s loving every drop. It’s a little weird but he shakes it off and heads back to Becky who’s smiling and waving at him. She’s so sweet with her skirt and blond hair and he wonders why he never saw that before.

 

~*~

 

The sun is only a few minutes away from setting and the red light makes everything beautiful. Becky is holding his hand in both of hers, trailing her fingers along his. Her eyes sparkle as she’s retelling the story of her parents taking her to Disney world. Something about cotton candy and a mirror house. He’s lost in her eyes, barely even notices Lucifer making gagging noises at them.

They’re approaching the back of the park, by the vantage-point over Las Vegas and all its city lights. He’s timed it perfectly. He brings up her hands and kisses them and moves her in the direction of the view. She gasps.

“It’s beautiful, Sam”, she whispers and he can’t help but agree. He wonders in a detached sort of way if Dean would laugh at him for being a girl and smiles at his imagined Dean’s incredulous face.

“It is”, he agrees and looks only at her.

“Oh come _on_ , can you get anymore cheesy?” Lucifer moans and makes a shows of gauging out his own eyes.

Sam can feel in his gut this pull to her, from her, telling him _now, do it now_ , this moment is perfect. His breath catches in his lungs and he’s having trouble breathing. She’s looking at him with eyes full of hope and fear and love.

Slowly he sinks down on one knee.

 

~*~

 

He gets to his feet, intending to go the bathroom, wash his face, calm his nerves. Everybody feels like they’re going to puke from nervousness at their wedding, right? He reaches the doors, pulls them open and comes face to face with a gun. A microsecond of his muscles tensing up for a fight before he sees Dean and his entire body relaxes.

“Dean”, he says, a greeting, a sigh, a plea, all rolled into one. His face wants to smile and it sort of does, but it’s weird. “It’s okay. You won’t need that”, his mouth says without him. He pulls Dean to him, and at least he’s on-board with that. It feels good to be touching Dean again.

“Aw, big byother here to saaave you”, Lucifer mocks and swoons.

Sam pulls Dean down the aisle and finally his face stretches into a genuine smile but somehow it’s too late. Dean is muttering in a disgruntled manner about his going off camping and Sam is surprised to realize he completely forgot about the intended trip.

He positions Dean where the best man stands and takes a moment to just look at him. His hands might be patting him a few extra times, but whatever, he can be happy to see his brother. He picks up the boutonnière, a pink flower that stands for loyalty as he explains when Dean asks.

“All right, so what’s the pretext? What are we, wedding crashers? We lookin’ for some kind of siren, or what?”

Sam’s face does that weird smiling thing again and he half-laughs as he says: “No, nothing like that.” His hands go up to Dean’s shoulders again, clapping down in a firm grip that somehow anchors Sam, makes him able to say the next words that need to be said.

“I’m in love, and I’m getting married.”

Dean’s face of suspicion does not change and Sam’s stomach knots itself into a screw. His happiness is bubbling in his heart, his face can’t stop smiling and it feels like he’s being ripped in two.

“Say something”, he pleads, _like I know you and I know this isn’t what you want and I’ll get you out of here_. “Like ‘congratulations’ for example”, his mouth goes on and his facial muscles are moving again. It’s a frown this time, a warning in his eyes. He wonders why Dean isn’t hugging him and asking about his intended, about Becky.

“What?” is Dean’s articulate answer and Sam sighs in relief. Dean is just surprised. He’ll get it soon and _get Sam out of here_ congratulate him properly.

“To tell you the truth, once Dean gets over the shock, he’ll be quite relieved to be rid of you. Sammy, come on, you have to know by now, he’s just mothering you. Still just following Daddy’s orders. Take care of Sammy, protect your little brother…”

Sam doesn’t have time to press on the scar before _Here Comes the Bride_ starts playing in its typical Las Vegas mechanical sound and Sam’s eyes snap up to Becky, all in white entering the church. She is absolutely gorgeous. He can’t see her face. Sweat is rolling down his neck, his legs are cramping and it’s possible he might be having a panic attack. He’s glad Dean is beside him or he might pass out.

Becky moves down the aisle in quick steps _too quick_ and then she is upon them. He moves to unveil her and feels a surge of happiness just seeing her under there smiling back at him. She looks at Dean and expresses her happiness at his presence and Sam agrees with her, pleased they will get along. He must be the luckiest man on earth.

 

~*~

 

When the ceremony is over and they’re sitting on some chairs by the altar Dean is pacing the floor, clearly still not with the program.

“Shouldn’t she ask for my permission or something?” he asks and even as he says it, must realize how stupid it sounds.

A strange lurch in his stomach surprises Sam. He laughs at Dean and can’t let pass the obvious follow-up: “You want her to ask for my hand?”

Dean is not so pleased with the answer and presents some valid arguments in the form of a reminder of the average life-spam of Sam’s hook-ups. Something does not seem right about the term hook-up in reference to Becky and he’s just about to interfere but Becky gets there first.

“But if anyone knows that, it’s _me_. I mean, I read _every_ book. So, open eyes, you know. Open eyes.” Her eyes glitter as they look at Sam and he feels like his heart doesn’t quite fit in his ribcage anymore. His mouth is doing something ridiculous but he’s too happy to care.

From his right he can hear Dean choke out: “Imma be sick.”

“You hear that, Sam. She’s read _every_ book”, Lucifer stage whispers. “She’s probably one of the fans who wrote fiction about you shacking up with your brother. Ah, sorry, you don’t actually mind that part, do you?” His eyebrows are doing entirely inappropriate things.

Some of the euphoria evaporates and Sam turns to look at Dean. He can feel his mood turn sour and irritated and when Dean asks about the monster testing his defenses go up, something prickling in his neck. Nothing is _wrong_ with Becky.

The church attendant shows up with the bill and Sam is filled with awe when Becky takes it and walks up. His wife (his wife!) is the best in the world!

It leaves him alone with Dean who’s jittery with unexpressed anger.

“Really?” he explodes in a hushed voice once Becky’s gone. “Super-fan ninty-nine?”

He tries to be patient, Dean is his brother after all, but Dean’s not listening and when his words turn into allegations against his wife he feels his patience snap.

“You know what, Dean, how about this? Becky and I are gonna go up to her place in Delaware” _no no no_ “Why don’t you try to wrap your head around this, get a little supportive, then give us a call?” His hand clamps down on Dean’s shoulder again and he has to convince his fingers to let it go, his body already turning around to his Becky.

She’s mumbling while writing her tweet and he smiles when he hears their new combined last name. He would have taken hers, gladly, but she had insisted on a combination. He’s fine with it. Winchester is a family name, so it’s good to have his name still connected to Dean, even as he builds his new family. His heart does something weird where it stops beating and he thinks he might have a heart attack but then he reaches Becky. Everything is fine.

 

~*~

 

After they’ve eaten at a restaurant to celebrate their newly wedded status, Becky drives them to another restaurant called Uncle Dietz’s Alped Haus Restaurant and Sam feels a little confused. _Didn’t they just eat?_ Maybe they didn’t.

“That’s right, pumpkin. You can’t even trust your own memories anymore. Did you eat, did you not eat? Are you sure you’re even in a car right now?” Lucifer says from the backseat where he’s sitting pressed against the back of Sam’s seat, breathing down his neck. Sam presses down, _hard_ , on the scar in his hand.

They meet up with one of Becky’s old high school friends, Jocelyn Caruso. She’s in charge of the RSVP for Becky’s high school reunion, which Sam didn’t know was this weekend, but hey, it would be fun to meet more of Becky’s friends. It’s a little weird, he feels like a prize being tangled in front of someone, but in the end he just wraps an arm around Becky and smiles politely at Jocelyn.

When they get back out on the parking lot, Becky notices another one of her friends and hurries over. They man’s name is Guy and a small part of Sam is twitching in the Hunter Instinct Says Bad Guy kind of way, but if it’s a friend of Becky’s then it can’t be. He plasters on a smile and shakes Guy’s hand and smiles good-naturedly at his embarrassment when Becky reveals how they met.

“No it’s okay. Nice to meet you. Look, any friend of Becky’s”, he says and smiles even though he’s shaking his head. A shiver runs down his back and he tries to ignore it, because clearly this is just a nice guy.

 

~*~

 

When they finally get to Becky’s place, he sits down on her coach and reads up on what’s happening in the world. It feels like forever since he picked up a newspaper. _It’s been four days!_ Dean’s voice in its accusatory tone screams at him. He notices the article in Pike Creek Chronicles about the lottery winner who died getting hit by a truck and something tickles his Hunter’s mind.

By the time dinner rolls around, Sam cooking, Becky getting ready in their room, he’s read up on it but nothing else weird has happened that sounds remotely relevant so he’s just letting it grind at the back of his mind.

He’s set the table and is waiting for Becky, staring at nothing and feeling no real need to do anything while he waits. He thinks he used to get restless in this type of situations but tucks the thought away when Becky steps into the kitchen. Dressed in a pink, adorable dress, deep-cut and frilly with black details, Sam loses the ability to talk. He chokes out a few words and hopes she understands his sentiment.

“I was, you know… saving it”, she confesses and looks nervous and happy and Sam’s heart is beating too fast.

“You think she was saving the rest of it for you, too?” Lucifer leers at him. “Would you like that? All sweet innocence? Myself, I prefer them a bit marred. Some nice scars to tickle at, some trauma. Or even better; a rape victim!”

Sam tunes him out and smiles at Becky. He’s glad she just steps up to the table and sits down because he doesn’t think he can stand. A headache is starting to build. He lifts his glass and they make a toast to them.

Then there is pain.

His ears are ringing, the world is fuzzy around the edges and he’s pretty sure there’s not supposed to be three women sitting in front of him. For a few terrifying moments that is all there is to his world.

After a while he manages to make out a voice asking him, _Sammy, honey_ , if he is all right. He wonders who feels they have the right to call him that. Not even Jess called him Sammy and Dean would never say honey.

The room stops spinning and he realizes he’s in a dimmed dining room with, is that _Becky Rosen_ in front of him? It’s like a smoke screen finally settling and memories of them spending time together are both clearer and further away.

“Becky? Why- why am I…? What am I doing here?”

The overwhelming need to get out of here is making him scan for exits. He’s already moving to stand up and _leave_ when suddenly there is lips against his, a warm soft body in his lap and a flowery scent surrounding him. His head throbs and a pained grunt slips away from him. He wants to squeeze up into a small ball and hide in a hole in the ground. He wants to shut his senses down and get _away_. Where the hell is Dean?

Becky seems to understand at least some of this because she leans away and when she turns back she has his glass of champagne held out for him. Although not overly fond of the drink, he thinks some dulling of everything can’t hurt and accepts it, but she doesn’t let go and suddenly the bubbly liquid is being poured down his throat. He swallows instinctively because he remembers what it’s like to drown from water being pushed into his lungs. He swallows even as his throat is making sounds of protest and panicked he grips her arm.

After that he loses track of himself. He’s sure there was a threat somewhere, something activated his fight or flight instinct. He can feel the sweat on his back, cold, grimy but not dried yet. Whatever it was, it can’t be gone.

Something fluttery is happening in his chest. Becky is looking at him with a small wrinkle between her brows and he wants to swipe it away. She steps away and one part of him wants to grab her hand and make her stay. The other part is breathing a little easier.

“Feeling better, honey?” she asks, still looking a bit spooked.

“Now that I’m with you”, he says.

 

~*~

 

The next morning he wakes up slowly. He doesn’t think he’s slept this well in ages. A petite body is pressed warmly to his, providing a human touch he hadn’t even realized he’s missed. Becky’s hand is stroking his chest, and her face is nuzzling into his armpit. When she notices he’s awake she shifts up and straddles him. A rush of arousal have his hands at her waist and before he knows it they’re kissing. Her sweet floral perfume isn’t very strong in the morning but he breathes in deeply.

“Morning, honey”, she says and nips at his throat.

“Morning”, he rumbles and she grinds closer to him. “What’s this, then?” he asks, slowly stroking her back.

“Can’t wait to be close to you”, she says and lets a hand trail down his stomach.

He huffs out a breath and struggles with a sudden sense of unease. This is his wife, he loves her. Why wouldn’t he want her to touch him?

“I want your hands on me, and I want my mouth on you”, she whispers in his ear and he shudders.

“Yeah, but we’ve got a case, right? Becky, you know we don’t have time for this when there’s a case”, he reasons with her. Her index finger trails the outline of his erection and he feels when she shudders out a breath, moist against his skin.

“I know”, she moans. “But we just got married…”

“How about I go fix us up some breakfast, we work the case, go someplace nice and have our first time be special. I’ll make dinner, we’ll take a walk in the sunset, maybe go swimming, clothing optional…” he murmurs and he feels her pleasure as if it was his own.

“You’re too perfect to be true”, she sighs against him, pressing another kiss to his throat, making him swallow convulsively.

“Right back at ya, sweetpuffs”, he smiles and kisses her lightly before detangling himself.

 

~*~

 

During lunch they discuss the baseball player who got himself promoted to the majors and then got his face bashed in by a frenzied pitching machine.

“I’m thinking cross-roads demon”, Sam says between chews. “It has the typical ‘one dream come true and then horrible death’ structure-“

“But what about the ten year contract? It doesn’t fit”, Becky intervenes.

Sam thinks back to when Dean made a deal for him, how he only got a year and how he had felt his heart hollow out when those words had passed Dean’s lips.

“Might be a cursed object, like in _Bad Day at Black Rock_ ”, Becky continues, like the time reference in Sam’s life has a title.

“Oooh, remember Bela, Sammy?” Lucifer croons at him. “Sexy, dangerous little minx who got dragged to hell not long before Dean-o’s trip. Quite a step down in terms of dream girl, don’t ya think? Oh you were gonna do _bad_ things to _her_ …”

Sam wants to object. In all fairness it _could_ be a cursed object but everything is screaming at him that this is completely different. He draws in breath several times but nothing comes out. There is a vague ringing in his ears _again?_ and he closes his eyes for just a second.

“Sammy, honey? What’s wrong?” Becky’s worried voice cuts through the noise and he looks up at her to smile reassuringly. Her gasp stops him. “You’re bleeding, sweetheart!” Suddenly she’s up and around the table, pressing a napkin to his nose and _oh, he’s got a nosebleed_.

“Ihd all righd”, he manages through the blood flow and her blocking his airways with the cloth.

“Oh, honey, you should have told me if you were feeling ill. Does this happen a lot? The books never mentioned anything about nosebleeds…” she’s rambling.

“They wouldn’t, would they. Chuck was fairly nice leaving your blood drinking days out of the prints. Been a while since this happened, though. Something you’ve been keeping from me, Sammy Sam-Sam?” Lucifer asks, but Sam barely hears him.

He gently removes Becky’s fingers, mutters another few calming words and steps away to take care of it.

 

~*~

 

It is several hours later and they haven’t got anywhere with the case. They’re standing by the idea board and exchanging ideas when suddenly there is a ringing from the doorbell.

“I’ll get it”, Sam offers and plants an affectionate kiss on Becky’ nose.

At the door is Dean. Sam’s body shuts down.

“Me being supportive”, states Dean and hands over a waffle iron of all things. “Congratulations to you and the missus.”

Sam wants to throw the waffle iron into the wall. “Thanks.”

“It’s a waffle iron. Non-stick”, Dean goes on as if Sam doesn’t have eyes to see that it’s a damn waffle iron. He tries to demonstrate how to use it and Sam has a brief moment to wonder if Dean actually had someone at the store explain the art of making waffles to him because he’s pretty sure they never had them growing up. It becomes apparent that he did not when he just shakes his head with a grimace and confesses: “I actually don’t know how to use it. Are we good?”

_Yes, we’re good, now let’s get out of here._ His eyes are pleading Dean to look at him and see that something is _seriously_ _wrong_ here.

He chuckles and shrugs. Dean seems to accept this and moves past him into the apartment. Sam has to catch his breath when Dean is no more than a few inches away from him. He thinks it might be weird to put his hands on Dean’s shoulder again. They don’t to that much touching unless someone’s about to die or has come back from the dead. He can’t help trailing after him like a deranged puppy, though, when Dean saunters through the rooms.

Dean starts talking about the case he and Becky have been working. It feels like cosmos’ idea of a joke and somehow he feels chagrinned. If he and Dean are not to be working this together then at least Dean shouldn’t have to work it alone.

His pitch trails to an end and Sam knows this is the part where he would normally inquire about something, provide a detail or start up on a plan of action. This time, however, it’s Becky’s time to shine and he waits for Dean’s reaction when she picks up the trail. It’s not a very happy face. It’s burning like acid in his stomach so he moves over to stand by Becky instead.

“You’re working this case… together?” Dean asks and there is a dangerous undertone to it.

 “Yeah, I know right?” Sam says and laughs to make it all better. “I mean, I guess all those Chuck Shurley books paid off”, he says and doesn’t know why he says them. He feels a grin stretch over his face like a bad fitting swimsuit.

“All right, listen, Cookie”, Dean starts and something very cold runs through Sam. “I don’t know what kind of mojo you’re working, but believe me, I will find out.”

“Uh-oh, big brother’s angry now”, Lucifer sing-songs.

Sam feels Becky’s discomfort with the situation and leans closer to her. It’s his simple way of showing support and he _needs_ her to be happy. A little part in his heart is cheering but it soon grows quiet.

“Dean”, he intervenes, trying to go for light but with enough severity to know he’s not joking. “That’s my wife you’re talking to.”

Dean’s face does something very ugly and Sam wants to stand in front of Becky to protect her. He wants to put his hands on Dean to calm him down. He wants to punch the threat to his wife, he wants to hug his brother. He doesn’t know what his face is doing.

“You’re not even _acting_ like yourself, Sam!” Dean roars.

The only time he would have appreciated the jibe Dean goes for Sam, instead of Sammy. “How am I not?” The sass is overflowing.

“You married _Becky Rosen_!” and everything that is wrong with her is encompassed in those words and Sam doesn’t understand at all. His wife is perfect, why can’t Dean see that?

He wants to say something in her defense but Becky gets there first: “What are you saying? That I’m a witch? Or maybe I’m a siren. Ever occur to you we’re just, I don’t know, _happy_?”

Dean is staring at her like he doesn’t know what he’s seeing, and then his incredulous face is turned back to Sam. “Come on, Sam!”

What follows is some serious allegations against the love of his life, a few quips at his desirability and a vague threat. He can feel Becky stewing at his side but he knows how to fight with Dean. He has to get it out before he’ll even hear what Sam has to say.

“You know, I went after _her_ , Dean. Maybe that’s what’s bugging you. That I’m moving on with my life. I mean you took care of me, and that’s great.” With every word pouring out of his mouth his nausea increases. “But I don’ need you anymore.” It’s like an invisible force making him say the words that will drive a wedge further between them.

Dean looks like he’s just had his worst fears confirmed and Sam would do anything to take it back. He yells at his legs to take him to Dean, his hands to raise in a gesture of _wait, forgive me_ instead of hanging uselessly by his side, his mouth to open and say _I didn’t mean it, I don’t know what’s happening to me_.

Dean leaves.

Becky turns with sympathetic eyes. Sam goes to the bathroom and throws up. Lucifer pats his back.

 

~*~

 

It is later and he’s calmed down significantly. He’s not even sure why he got so upset in the first place. He always knew Dean would have trouble letting go, but he just needs to accept that Sam has found something wonderful and when he does he’ll let Sam have this.

In their bedroom where he feels this inexplicable need to go, he finds Becky sitting on their bed reading something. She’s got a smudge of red ink on her nose and it is the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. He almost feels sad licking his thumb before wiping it away.

He hands her the article he found in the paper about the salesman who made CEO to everyone’s surprise. He can’t believe he missed it before. While she reads the article, he picks up her notebook and finds her doodles. Page upon page of “Sam loves Becky” repeated in the same red ink he wiped off her nose. She had clearly just been smelling it. He feels the incredulity break through something foggy in his mind and his face reacts in response. _This is creepy! Who does this? Why is he here with this person?_

Then Becky’s worry seeps into his chest and his face smoothens out by itself and he does the only thing that will bring her happiness. It’s clearly an adorable habit and he’s lucky to be married to a girl who loves him this much. He leans in and kisses her and his heart swells when she kisses him back. Lucifer occupies himself by rummaging through Becky’s drawers so Sam takes this second kissing his wife and enjoys it.

For a few moments it’s sweet. It’s everything he could hope for. Then her hand is on his face, she’s standing up, settling into his lap and pressing close. When her hands slide into his hair and _pull_ , he feels his pulse skyrocket. He never liked the hair-pulling when anyone else did it, but with Becky, he loves it. He loves everything with her.

He can’t stop touching her, his hands are roaming her back, coming around and squeezing her breasts, creeping up in her hair and pushing her closer. They kiss roughly and deeply with tongue. Everything is _heat_ and _closer_ and he can’t get enough.

She’s sitting right on his cock and he’s already half-hard when she presses a warm hand there. His mind blanks. The flowery scent is filling his nostrils and her hair is falling all around him, making him disoriented.

“Yeah, baby”, Becky moans and rocks against him. His hands grip her hips tightly and he’s panting. “You’re everything I want, everything…”

His phone vibrates. Becky sighs and leans away. He feels strength return to his limbs and he lifts Becky off and picks up the phone. Becky pouts at him but leaves the room. There is entirely too much air in his lungs.

“Hi, Bobby, what’s up?” he says in the receiver and he can tell his voice is wheezing.

“Hey, son. How ya doin’? I heard you got married while away. Can’t be bothered to pick up a phone to tell me?” Bobby’s grumbling voice is such a relief Sam doesn’t even notice he’s shaking.

“Hah, yeah, sorry about this. Everything’s been happening so fast I can barely believe it myself”, he says and what is wrong with his voice?

“Are you all right, kid?” Bobby says sounding concerned.

Sam raises a hand to wipe his face, suddenly drained. It comes away wet. Surprised, he touches his cheeks and realizes he’s crying.

“Yeah, ‘m fine”, he says into the phone. “Listen, Bobby, unless there was anything important, I- uh, I’ve gotta go”, he forces out, taking calm breaths.

“Sam, boy, if there’s something wrong, you tell me, d’you hear me? You talk to me”, Bobby demands and he’s dead-serious.

Sam experiences a shift to outside his body and he’s looking down on himself, sitting on a bed, crying, shaking, talking to the closest thing he has to a father, and he can’t say a word. It’s deeply unsettling.

He nods even though Bobby can’t see him. He hopes he can’t hear his uneven trembling breaths.

For a minute or two they sit there, nothing being spoken but so much is said. When Sam finally feels like he can pull himself together, he clears his throat a few times and swallows.

“Thanks, Bobby. I’m glad you called. I’ll talk to you soon, take care”, he says, means every word, and hangs up.

 

~*~

 

At the Mutual Freedom Insurance office he lets Becky do the questioning. She is clearly dying to. He has a detached thought that she is missing a few inquiries and _that expressions right there_ , he should dig into that, but in the next moment he thinks, _what’s the harm?_ and moves on. After the interview is done, they thank Craig and leave.

Outside Dean sits with some scrawny dude, clearly Dean’s back-up, and Sam feels his insides squeeze into a hard ball.

“Replaced already?” Lucifer’s voice is silken in mock sympathy.

Becky’s displeasure with the situation is radiating into Sam’s chest and the desire to leave almost forces him to ignore Dean when he approaches. Instead he tells Dean everything he needs to hear to give this up. _No point going in_ and _guy’s clean_ , but somehow also manages to say _Becky grilled him like a pro_ which is sure to send Dean straight in.

He can’t stand still. Becky is already moving out of the room and he wants to follow her, needs to, but Dean is right there.

“What’s with scrawny guy?” he asks and is proud he doesn’t sound like a total douchebag. It’s a close thing.

He enjoys the pain on Dean’s face way too much when he says: “Temp.”

He does not touch Dean when he leaves.

 

~*~

 

On the drive back his foot taps the floor in a stressful tic he got rid of years ago. Becky casts a glimpse at him and lays a hand on his knee. It should calm him, he knows it should. Somehow it doesn’t. He stops tapping anyway.

Back at Becky’s he goes straight to their idea board. He’s starting to get a headache but still, he forces his mind into obedience. He’s done this a thousand times before. Feeling like he is on the brink of something he mumbles “no, no, no, something’s not adding up”. Becky sweeps past him, smiling easily and reassures him that they’re sure to catch a break soon. His heartbeat increases.

When she recites her tweet about a romantic get-away, his throat closes up and for a second everything goes black. Then the splitting headache is back and suddenly he sees everything with perfect clarity. _This isn’t right. He should_ not _be here_. The world is fuzzy in the edges and sweet _sweet_ Becky is staring at him, with eyes full of worry.

“Be-becky, wh-what’s happening?” He needs her to explain what’s wrong.

“Don’t you remember? We’re married.”

It feels like his head is splitting in two. He doubles over, he might vomit.

“I’m calling Dean.”

He’s just turned around to head to his jacket where he left it when pain flares up in the back of his head and the world disappears before his eyes.

 

~*~

 

His sense of consciousness comes back in waves of agony. He figures it’s his heartbeat when another wave brings a flood of pain through his head. He tries to bring a hand to the sore spot when he encounters resistance and his eyes snap open on high alert. He’s tied to a bed. This has happened surprisingly few times. Often when he’s been kidnapped and bound up he’s been left on the floor or tied to a pole of some kind. This is almost comfortable. Which somehow makes it even more terrifying.

He has but a second to orient himself. He hasn’t got beyond _nowhere familiar_ when Becky flops down on the bed. Her eyes are wide open in that half-crazy manic way he remembers from the few times they’ve met.

“Do you feel concussion-y? How many fingers am I holding up?”

He ignores her in favor of staring wildly around himself. His breathing is anything but controlled and he can almost hear his father’s voice yelling at him to take command of the situation. “Where am I? What the hell is going on?”

Her attempt at making him calm down makes him think of every worst case scenario imaginable. Leviathan, angels and demons cross his mind before something else occurs to him.

“Becky, why- why am I not wearing any pants?” He feels sweat pooling at his brow and lower back as he assesses the situation. It’s hard when he’s losing blood in his hands and feet and his head is still pulsing ominously.

“They’re very constricting”, is her prompt reply and he feels nausea roll through him and he moans loudly. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything weird”, is the follow-up and her leering face forces Sam to deal with the facts. This is not a supernatural situation. Oh, the people getting their dreams and then dying is definitely a case, and his suddenly losing his head over Becky super-fan Rosen can most certainly be tied to some supernatural cause or another. But this _is_ Becky, no leviathan or angel scenario or other creepy thing that would allow him to get over this like he normally would: monsters are monsters and are to be ganked.

“I was helping”, she says and he feels his blood run much too high.

“She really was, you know?” Lucifer adds helpfully. “There was some excessive _fondling_ but she did admittedly have good intentions for your comfort.”

“Let me go”, he demands in a voice as calm and reasonable as he can manage. He thinks he might ruin it when he follows up with a screamed: “NOW!” but he really can’t help it as Lucifer starts stroking his calf.

“Are you thirsty?” she asks and he flinches back from her. Does she not get what she is doing? His grip on _sensible_ and _calm_ is slipping away from him. “Or do you need a bottle to… you know-”

Please don’t say it, he thinks desperately. Don’t say it, don’t say it, _don’t say it_.

“Tinkle?”

_I’m being held hostage by a girl with a serious obsession with my dick_ , he thinks a bit hysterically.

 “It’s okay if you do. I can help!”

“Think she has a thing about your pee, too?” Lucifer asks and licks his toes.

He wonders if this can get any worse. He tugs uselessly at his constraints and groans. The sound of a computer or phone sends Becky into a flurry of activity and when she leaves he calls after her, thinking the only thing worse than her _tender care_ would be being left here, unable to defend himself or get lose to contact Dean. _Oh my God, Dean_. He must be so worried, and angry and not getting any of this. He tries to muddle through his memories of the last couple of days, finding them surprisingly foggy, but he distinctly remembers saying hurtful things like _I don’t need you anymore_. His lips feel frozen solid.

Becky’s conversation with the guy in the computer manages to snap him out of it. Leaning up to see his face on the screen he identifies him as Guy, Becky’s friend from the parking lot.

“-at my parent’s cabin. I’ve got Sam tied to a bed. I’m out of elixir-“

Sam’s head is spinning. He focuses on the few points that make sense. Becky’s parents’ cabin, the one they planned to go to after the finished working the case. He’s just trailed onto _elixir_ when he hears the mention of honeymoon and their supposed plans, apparently involving bondage. His stomach is rolling again and he tries to shift around so he’ll be able to puke and not choke on it.

“Hey, Sammy, remember our ventures into bondage? Those were some special times… Do you think Becky could make you scream like I did? Make you cry and beg for it to end? I dunno, Samantha, she doesn’t really seem to know which buttons to push, does she?”

Sam breathes very slowly in and out, counting heart-beats.

“Do you know we haven’t even consummated our marriage?” Becky says forlornly in the other room and the walls spin.

He thinks of this morning before they left for Mutual Freedom Insurance. He thinks of her because he can’t be thinking about Lucifer and Hell. He thinks of how he touched her face, hips, boobs. How he stroked her hair and kissed with tongue, how he licked her throat and enjoyed all of it. His skin crawls. Her hands had been touching him, too. Her legs had straddled him and they’d been grinding together while her hands had roamed his back, slipping under his shirt and clawing at the flesh she encountered there. Her lips had been at his clavicle, sucking, biting. He bets he would still be able to see the bruise if he could just move his hands and pull down the shirt. But he can’t. Because Becky hogtied him to a bed.

He notices their conversation coming to an end and manually forces his breathing to slow down, his heart still pounding furiously.

“So you dosed me with a love potion.”

The conversation doesn’t improve much. It seems impossible but it appears he is still not getting through to her.

“Yes, I used a social lubricant-“

“You _roofied_ me!”

She looks quite unhappy with this proclamation and he feels a distant satisfaction, maybe…

“We had a _great_ time together. You were happy!”

His teeth clench and somehow, somewhere he feels his sarcasm come back. The walls aren’t spinning quite as bad anymore and he finds his center. Or something resembling it.

“Oh, yeah! I’m thrilled”, he gestures to his tied hands and tries not to think of a case in which this could have been happening, a couple of days later, were he stilled high on love drugs. Lucifer strokes a finger where the rope is meeting his skin, already red and sore.

When Becky turns to leave he throws the only thing he can think of to stop her.

“You know your pal Guy is the one icing all those people, right?”

While she denies it, he can sense her hesitation and he does all he can to draw on that. He knows he’s a reasonable guy, and people seem to respond to that. Dean says it’s his puppy dog eyes, but they both know it’s more. That’s why Dean usually leave the reluctant witnesses to him. He has a way of making them want to help, want to understand. Becky, no doubt, knows this. Another shiver runs down his spine when he thinks of her reading about their lives, thinking somehow she has a claim on them, on him.

“Look, I don’t know how much he’s charging you for that Spanish fly-“

“Nothing! He _gives_ it to me!” she interrupts him with a triumphant smile. “And he said it wouldn’t even work unless you already loved me, deep down. It just activates it.”

The horrible part is she actually seems to believe it. He can see it on her face. The total faith she has in this _Guy’s_ words, the answer to all her desolate daydreaming, the one response that would make all her pining seem worth something. Seem real.

“So you think I love you?” He can see that the words break something in her.

“Aw, you’re breaking her heart, man”, Lucifer says, scratching a line where his finger had been tracing so that a small tendril of blood oozes from his skin. Sam’s teeth clench.

“Deep, _deep_ down?” Becky’s voice is but a quiver.

“Then untie me”, he demands. It’s not a request. It’s a challenge to her assumption. If she can back her words by true belief, if she really does root this madness in a deeply misguided but genuine faith of his devotion, she will untie him and he will leave from here without the dirty feeling running in his veins like the black goo they find in the monsters they hunt.

She doesn’t. Instead she leaves.

He breathes out slowly. Through his nose, because she stuffed a rag into his mouth before shouting _I love you!_

“Just you and me now, Sammy”, Lucifer says with a snicker.

 

~*~

 

Sam’s still working on his bound hands when Becky returns several hours later. He imagines the reunion is well over by then. The ropes have since long turned into chains and the one around his throat is constricting his air ways so he doesn’t immediately notice that she’s talking to him. Lucifer, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s stomach, stops his slow carving of his skin to listen.

“I was gonna show you off”, she confesses with a sad sigh directed at some dream-land she envisioned when drugging him out of his mind. “Not that anyone actually knows who you are. _Supernatural_ is not exactly popular…”

_And thank God for that_ , he thinks. If he’d have to wonder at everyone he met whether they’d read about his cursed life, his mistakes and falls, he would go crazy. Lucifer coughs. _More crazy_ , he remedies.

“They’d all think I was happy”, she finishes her monologue.

“Mhfffhhff”, he utters comprehensively, ignores the disgusting rag that smells of saliva and blood.

“You’re mad, I get it”, she says sadly and wanders over. He feels his pulse increase as she lays down on the bed and rest her head on his chest. Lucifer moves aside reluctantly. She must be able to hear his heart going double pace but she doesn’t appear to notice. “Can we talk?” she asks, as though he has any say in the matter. “I know you don’t love me”, she says and he’s happy she’s finally got that, at least.

“You got that right”, he grunts through his rag. It doesn’t really come out as words.

What follows is a confession of insecurities and sadness he really could have done without. He doesn’t want to sympathize with her. Her foot is hooked over his leg, probably so she won’t fall of, spread eagle-eyed as he is over the bed, but it feels intrusive. Now that the drugs aren’t there to numb his senses it feels all kinds of wrong.

She’s got to the part where her life is turned around, by his existence, apparently.

“And then I started dating Chuck!” she laughs and he would be thrilled because this means he can go back to hating her but her hand lands on his chest. He is abruptly transported back to that first time he met her, when she’d barely explained who she was before she started touching his chest, not stopping when he asked her to. He wonders if he should have seen that as a warning signal and can thus be blamed for this; for not stopping her when he should have known. Dean will surely laugh his ass off when he hears about it. He wishes Dean would suddenly barge in, guns blazing and pull him out of this. He knows it’s impossible because Dean can’t possibly know where he is, but when her fingers starts stroking his chest he wishes all the same.

“I think I intimidated him with my vibrant sexuality”, Becky says and Sam again thinks of the bondage she had clearly had planned for them. He wonders if his personal dislike for them would have in any way translated into his role as a perfect husband (his mind is still boggled at the term) or if he would have happily strapped on any cuffs, ropes and blindfolds she would have wanted. He swallows down the gag reflex.

“I just want someone who loves me for me! Is that too much to ask?” her voice is desperate, indignant and seeking approval all at once and he would in any other case be impressed at so much emotion being compressed into that once phrase. Instead he tries to answer her. Which doesn’t work, because he is still gagged. When she grows bored of his muteness and finally removes it, he swallows, licks his lips, and tries to make his mouth work again, before he answers:

“If you want somebody to love you for you, maybe don’t drug them.” He tries to put as much of the grave situation and his seriousness into his words as possible but she is deaf to him.

“But I want you, and this is the only way!”

Sudden panic works its way through his blood and adrenaline is pumping through him when she starts digging through her purse. The purse is where she kept her love potion in the first place. He composes himself until he’s sure his voice will do as he asks while the useless panicky voice in his mind screams.

“Becky, you’re better than this”, and he really wishes it was true. He looks at her, let’s his eyes convey his trust in her.

“That’s sweet but, I’m not so sure.” The hard part is how she actually seems regretful about it. Like it’s not up to her, when _everything_ comes back to her and her choices.

He casts a panicked eye at the bottle.

For a moment reality is held in suspension. Becky is looking at him with sad eyes, Sam is having trouble focusing on anything but the air that refuses to go into his lungs, Lucifer is contemplating pulling out his nails. Just as Becky lowers the bottle, a look of determination settling on her face, the door bangs open. They both freeze. Lucifer manifests a pincer.

Slowly Becky turns around and behind her Sam can make out Dean, gun at a high ready. His eyes are furious and Sam feels his entire body relax for the first time in days.

“You are going to want to back away from my brother”, Dean growls at Becky and she is quick to jump up and put herself against the wall, hands raised.

Scrawny guy moves in after him and keeps Becky at the wall while Dean rushes forward and starts untying the knots.

“Dean, it’s good of you to come”, Sam says and he would be embarrassed at the weak quality of his voice but Dean gives him a look of such obvious relief that Sam stops caring altogether. “Sorry about before. It was a love potion, a friend of hers named Guy is supplying it. He’s an event planner, should be hanging out at the reunion at Uncle Dietz’s Alped Haus. She said he’s a Wiccan but I’m not ruling out witch-“

His mouth is going on autopilot trying to get everything out that he’s managed to piece together while left alone here. Dean is swiftly cutting through the ropes, humming in response. When he’s done the arms, he goes to the feet. Sam sits up and presses a thumb to the scar. Lucifer sighs, winks at him and disappears.

“Yeah, we figured it was a crossroads demon that’s somehow cashing in the checks early”, Dean says when Sam’s words finally run out. He doesn’t miss Sam’s pinched expressions but carefully doesn’t ask.

“All right, so what’s the plan?” he asks immediately. Dean gives him a long, considering look before standing up and walking over to a chair in the corner. He tosses him his pants that are lying there and Sam pulls them on.

“We’re thinking we’ll make use of your wife’s friendship with the demon, if you don’t mind”, he says and stares at Sam. It’s not a jibe, but more like an offering. _If you need to take revenge I’ll help you_ , says the voice.

Sam shakes his head at that and asks, “Sure, yeah. So we’ll let her meet up with him and pretend to go through with the deal and then trap ‘im?” he asks and Dean nods with an approving glint in his eyes.

“Sounds about right.”

They turn around in unison to look at Becky who is staring back at them with eyes blown wide.

 

~*~

 

While they are standing listening to Becky talking to Guy, and Garth is standing on the other side of the entrance, Dean leans in very close.

“You okay, Sammy?” he whispers and Sam takes enormous pleasure in turning to him, smiling and answering, just as he wants to:

“Yeah, Dean. I am, thank you.”

Dean sends him an inquisitive look. Maybe it was a little more heartfelt than the moment calls for, or what they’d normally allow for, but Sam bumps his shoulder and turns back to listening.

“So, we seal the deal with a kiss?” Becky asks and Sam shudders. He can all too well imagine the deal being made in this way.

“Exactly. Pucker up, sweetheart”, Guy responds and they are all holding their breath as they hear the small click indicative of the lighter hitting the floor.

“I’m not your sweetheart!” Becky calls and they all walk around the corner into view.

It’s a gratifying moment to be standing here with his brother, (and Garth), the fugly in the trap, the case about to be closed. Garth goes for the goodie monologue and Sam wonders if Dean let him or if he was snubbed. The thought almost makes him grin.

“You see that, Sam? I did it just like we said!” Becky exclaims, suddenly in his face, body language screaming pride and accomplishment, and had it been any other civilian pulling that off he would be proud of them. “I am awesome! I-“ Her glowing expression dims somewhat when she catches sight of his face. He can’t imagine it’s doing anything nice. “I’ll be over here…”

The confrontation is turned on its head, like so often is the case. Becky ends up saving his life. Crowley makes a surprise appearance and that’ll be the day when Sam is glad to see him. By the time they get back to Becky’s to sign the annulment papers, Sam is truly ready for the day to be _over_. Neither of them slept anything that night, what with the demon hunt and being tied up and everything, and Sam is really feeling the lack of sleep.

“It- it wasn’t all bad, right?” Becky asks and smiles tentatively.

Sam wants to scrub his skin until he won’t remember what her hands on him feels like. He wants to drink until he stops feeling the ghost of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. He wants to cut into his wrists and let the blood pour out until the dirty feeling crawling through his veins finally goes away.

He sighs and she looks crestfallen.

“Okay, you did save my life, and for _that_ , thanks.”

He can hear Dean moving angrily through the room and forces himself not to look.

“So, I’ll see you again?” Becky asks and he marvels at her ability to flip through emotions so quickly.

“Yeah, probably not”, he manages after a deep breath of taming the force in his muscles that wants to _hurt_ something.

She slumps down and finally _finally_ signs the papers that will relieve him of this forever.

Looking at her he realizes he is going to leave her depressed and possibly completely broken. He shapes the words that will take the sting out of his rejection and wishes he was far, far away. He dares look over at Dean but is distracted by Garth’s game eyes and feels another wave of nausea rise in his throat. Dean, appearing to sense his discomfort, steps in and quickly puts an end to that.

When they leave they don’t shake hands. Becky seeks out his eyes but he keeps his gaze firmly planted on the ground.

“If you _ever_ contact either of us again, I will end you”, Dean tells her and she nods.

The goodbye with Garth is somehow both pathetic and cute and Sam never thought he would say that about another guy in his thirties.

Leaning against the crappy car, Sam finally lets himself say the words he needed Dean to hear.

“When I was all dosed up, I said some crap...”

He gets a whole lot of mocking in return but eventually Dean seems to get it.

“You know, I gotta say, man, for a wackjob, you really pulled it together”, Dean says and Sam can’t resist putting in his own jibe and when they laugh Sam soars on clouds.

Somehow they get back to a serious note involving words like _it’s stupid to think that you need me around all the time_ and _you’re a grown-up_ and Sam wonders if he’s losing him.

“You basically have been looking out for me your whole life. Now you finally get to… take care of yourself. About time, huh?” he says and doesn’t mean a word. He gets into the car.

 

~*~

 

They’ve driven maybe fifteen miles, safely out of Delaware, and very few words have been spoken between them. They’re approaching some small town, a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of place. Dean turns off the highway and park at the first motel they see.

“Man, I am completely cashed”, Dean mutters and turns off the engine.

Sam offers to go check them in and when he comes back Dean is leaning back in his seat, snoring lightly. For a moment Sam is stuck staring at him. His strong, amazing big brother who’s kept him safe all through his life. He leans in and shakes him gently.

“Dean, wake up. I’ve got the room for us.”

Dean grunts and wakes up slowly. He stares at Sam through squinted eyes for a few seconds with this incredible smile on his face, like nothing makes him happier than seeing Sam. It does something to Sam’s insides and he smiles back.

Reality comes back a blink later and Dean coughs and nods for him to get in so they can park by their room. The drive is barely two minutes long. They pack out their bags, unlock the door and stumble inside. Without a word they get ready for bed. Ten in the morning or not, they’re not doing anything more today.

Sam wakes up some hours later. He gathers the sun is still up from the light in the room. After a shower and three thorough scrubs he feels a bit more like a human. He goes out and collects breakfast and coffee and when he returns Dean is awake. He moans pitifully when Sam plants the Styrofoam cup in his hand. They don’t talk as they devour the food and Sam is thankful.

As afternoon rolls into evening, Sam checks up on the news, calls Bobby to apologize and thank him. He’s quite finished with feeling anything at all by now but he still chokes up when the old man grumbles about being like a son to him and shut up.

He’s just browsing, listening to Dean clean out the guns when Dean proclaims they should find a bar.

“What, now?” Sam says and can hear the whining quality to his voice.

“Yeah, now. We’ve got no case, we’re not driving anywhere tonight and I cannot sleep anymore for a few hours at least. Besides, there is nothing else to do in this crappy town. I’m not sure it should be allowed to be called a town when their sheriff’s office is ten miles from here.”

“Yeah, all right, I hear you”, Sam laughs when Dean glares at him. “Just give me a minute to grab a better shirt.”

“What, you don’t want the world to see your eternal love of Snoopy? Where the hell did you even find that?”

Sam tosses his (very soft and really comfortable) Snoopy shirt in his face when he goes to grab a flannel. That shuts him right up.

 

~*~

 

They’re not desperate for money but Dean likes a game of pool all the same, so Sam helps him set up the hustle. Then he leans back in a booth with a beer and enjoys watching his brother work. He declines an invitation to play darts and has another beer. Briefly he checks out the girls in the place but the idea of shacking up almost sends the drink right up again. He relaxes in his seat and contents himself to watch.

It’s no coincidence he likes picking up girl with his pool skills, Sam realizes when Dean leans over and not only downs the next ball, but bends over in a manner that shows off his ass like few things do. He takes a deep swallow of his beverage and waits while Dean finishes off his game. He doesn’t think Dean’s noticed his considerable staring contest with his butt, only, right before he takes the shot, he glances over and stares right back, and then he _winks_.

Of course it could be anything. Hell, it’s probably Dean just bragging before winning the game. That doesn’t matter as Sam coughs up the liquid that went down the wrong pipe.

When Dean settles in opposite him, his own beer in hand, his smile is sunny and Sam grins back at him. Dean takes up the entire seat with his position; leaning back, spread legs and an arm stretched along the headrest.

“Teaches ‘em not to play a stranger”, he chuckles and Sam huffs.

“You play strangers all the time. Hell, you _only_ play strangers.”

“Yeah, but I’m the best and I can’t hustle my own brother, brother; it’s counterproductive”, Dean says and takes a pull from his drink.

Dean smiles a lot and Sam takes many sips of beer to get rid of the dry feeling in his throat. The many sips turn into many drinks and smiles turn into laughter. Sam’s chests feels lighter than it has in a long time.

“Sam”, Dean says and leans forward in his seat. All traces of joking are gone from his expression. His hand is rests on Sam’s and the air must be getting thinner. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out sooner. I should’a realized…”

“You should have realized a crazy fan was drugging me with a love potion acquired from a crossroads demon gone rogue? Yeah, Dean, I’m so disappointed in you. How could you?”

“Damn it, Sam, I’m serious. I know you’d never just marry some girl, especially now and especially Becky. I don’t know… I just- I was thrown for a loop what with you needing time away and suddenly showing up with this girl…” He is staring at Sam’s hand rather than meeting his eyes and Sam’s lips thin.

“Look, there was no way you could’a known, all right? I-“

“But I did know! And I kept asking you about it instead of working the damn case”, Dean argues and the self-blame is right there, open for all to hear. “There are never two crazies in town at the same time!”

“Except when I go there”, Sam jokes but Dean doesn’t laugh. Instead there is a moment of tense silence.

“How- uh… how was it?” Dean asks and for a second Sam doesn’t get it. “The Lucifer thing, I mean. She tied you up and I know you’ve been using the hand thing.”

Sam swallows away a thick feeling in his throat. Of course Dean had figured out that was the worst part. He considers lying but then green eyes are staring back at him and daring him to play this down. “It was pretty bad”, he says and hates how weak his voice sounds.

Dean looks like someone punched him in the gut. “I’m sorry”, he says and his words carry all the strength that Sam doesn’t have. “I should have gotten there sooner.”

“I knew you would. I couldn’t get out of the ropes, couldn’t get to the scar. I’m pretty sure our _honeymoon_ ”, Sam’s forces the word out, tasting the bitterness on his tongue. “It was going to include bondage.” Dean looks like he could murder something. “Thing is, I can’t remember ever not wanting something she did, and I just- I don’t know if-“. His lips aren’t co-operating anymore so he downs the rest of his beer and steps up to get a new one.

When he sits down again he feels a little steadier. “Anyway, there were moments of clarity, too. Very conflicting and mostly confusing, but I remember thinking about you a lot. Wanting to call you, wanting to leave. I’d get headaches in the intervals when the elixir lost its potency. They reminded me a lot of the ones I used to get when I got my visions.”

“You think there was anything demonic in the potion. Blood or whatever?” Dean asks and his voice is intense.

“Nah, nothing like that. It’s more like the blood conflicting with the real me. Like it recognized the evil in it and reacted. It’s just a part of me that I’ve gotta learn to deal with.”

Dean’s eyes flash and Sam wonders if he’s said too much. He stares down on the bottles on the tables, tries counting how many are his.

“You’re not evil, Sam” Dean growls and Sam almost laughs. “That blood shit, that’s gone now. You haven’t gone near the stuff in ages. You’re just you now. You hear me? Nothing but good in you anymore.”

“I can _feel_ it, Dean. It’s not something that will ever go away. It’s fine. I’m dealing.” They’re staring at each-other but the nice atmosphere they had going is long gone. Sam feels Dean’s displeasure like a live thing, crawling over his skin. “Let’s just drop it, all right?”

It takes another couple of beers, some stiff conversation and forced teasing but eventually the air gets warm again. They sit like that for a couple of hours. It feels like minutes. The last time they did this their lives had been simpler, in any way hunting is ever simple. They talk about nothing, enjoying each-other’s company without stressing out about purgatory or heaven or hell. By the time it’s midnight they’re both pretty trashed. Dean’s leaning across the table, gesticulating wildly how the old lady had tried to grab the last pie.

“You’re a horrible person, Dean. You should’a let the nice lady have her pie, man!” Sam slurs and Dean argues.

“I’d just put down two werewolves and I hadn’t eaten in fourteen hours, Sam, fourteen! I deserved some pie for my good deed.”

“Your good deeds are paid by every skank you hit on in every bar we enter not giving you chlamydia or getting pregnant-“

“Hey, I use protection, you moron!” Dean wails, indignant. “And I ain’t hitting on no skank tonight, you’ll notice.”

“That’s cause you’re too drunk to not get shot down just breathing in the direction of any girl in here. Besides, they all think you’re gay by now”, Sam says proudly for making the observation and then sort of fails when he tries to drink and end up just pouring some of it on his throat and down his shirt.

“I’m not that drunk, man, but you are _wasted_ ”, Dean laughs and takes the bottle away from him. “You never drink like this, and no wonder. You’re a lightweight!” Dean teases and downs Sam’s beer before Sam has time to protest.

“Hey!” he grumbles but it’s already too late. Dean just smacks his lips and grins some more. It’s a really good look on him.

“That’s it, we’re heading back”, Dean pronounces and though Sam argues he’s _fiiiine_ and _they should have another_ he doesn’t protest when Dean hauls him up and guides him out.

Sam is leaning heavily on Dean, enjoying his safe smell and trusting his strong arms will hold him. They get back to their room, thank god for small towns, and Dean just dumps him on his bed before he starts stripping behind Sam.

Sam, who feels this is an unfair turn of events, twists around to look at his now shirtless brother. He feels maybe he should get going on his boots at least, because sleep is not that far off. When Dean shucks his pants, however, Sam’s brain does a thing where it shuts down everything that isn’t vital for survival. And some things that are. Like breathing. His tongue is thick and taking clothes off feels like a very bad idea all of a sudden.

Dean, completely unaware of this switch in Sam’s brain taking place, strolls into the bathroom. Sam flops down on the bed and stares at the ceiling wondering what the hell just happened. It’s been _years_ and he’s pretty sure he made a deal with himself to stop feeling like this. Shows him to trust himself.

By the time Dean gets out of the bathroom, Sam has managed to strip out of his bar smelling clothes and is now sitting in nothing but his underwear with his back against the headboard. Dean grunts a _free_ and slips by Sam when he gets up. Sam is very careful not to touch, and locks the door after him.

He looks at himself in the mirror, questions his judgement and wonders if this is what his life has come to. He drags his tongue over his teeth and tastes the beer from the night. He looks tired and his eyes are a little red but he feels pretty clear-headed.

When he steps out he stumbles over the threshold and jams a toe on the foot of Dean’s bed. He swears loudly and crashes down on it. Dean grunts in displeasure when he’s crushed by 190 lbs of little brother. Sam, of course, moves up until he’s lying perfectly on top of him.

“Hurt my foot”, Sam argues and Dean shifts around until they’re lying side by side instead.

“I’m never letting you drink again”, says Dean without opening his eyes.

“See, I still need you to take care of me”, Sam yawns and pulls at the comforter. It’s actually pretty cold in the room and he’s feeling the chill.

“Cut it out”, Dean immediately grumbles.

“Hey, sharing is caring. Let me get under here”, Sam wheedles and fully expects to get hit in the face with an elbow.

“You have your own goddamn bed”, Dean says, quite reasonably one can think, but that wasn’t working at all according to Sam’s plan.

“Too far”, states Sam and determinedly tugs until Dean lets up on his death grip on the covers.

“You’re like an overgrown baby”, is Dean’s grumpy answer, but he doesn’t complain anymore once Sam settles under the blanket and there is suddenly plenty of heat to go around.

Sam huddles in as close as he can and listens to Dean decidedly not protesting. Tentatively he slings an arm around Dean and holds his breath. This is too close. They don’t do things like this. Then Dean’s foot is hooked around Sam’s ankle and a hand lands on his neck. He draws a trembling breath.

“We haven’t shared a bed since you hit your last growth-spurt”, Dean mumbles. “You used to be tiny before then…”

“Yeah, well, I think you’ve doubled in shoulder width since then so who’s talking?” Sam answers and strokes said shoulders to indicate what he meant.

“I was fit back then. I’ve always been fit”, protests Dean and Sam laughs.

“Yeah, but there wasn’t much _mass_ going on. You were just a kid, Dean, nothing wrong with that.” Sam silently thinks it had a lot to do with the rationed food supply they were living off for so many years when their dad left town to go hunt the local fugly, leaving them only minimal money to get by. He doesn’t mention this because he doesn’t want to fight with Dean, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about dad.

“Shut up, you were skinny.”

Sam can’t refute that. He’d been pretty lanky all around until he left for Stanford and made his first rebellion by overindulging. After filling out quite a bit, he had realized it wasn’t really a healthy way of managing his anger and had settled down. Once he got the eating under control and he picked up the training again he had started gaining a lot of muscle. Dean didn’t need to know any of this, though.

“I was a kid”, he pouts and snuggles in so he can breathe in the smell hiding under Dean’s jaw.

Dean doesn’t answer and the air is suddenly very tense. The hand held at Sam’s neck spasms a little. Dean shifts a bit and Sam just lies very still. He feels Dean’s ribcage fill out when he breathes in and matches his own pattern. He wonders if he will say anything. They’re Winchesters. They don’t normally (not ever) talk about their feelings. Sam always hated that part of their heritage. He thinks of all the times he could have saved Dean some pain of only he had just spoken out about what was bothering him.

Then he feels Dean’s hand stroke down from his neck, down his spine to settle at the small of his back. It’s an intimate spot, Dean is not doubt aware, and Sam listens to his own heartbeat increase. The pause there is a question. If Sam ignores it, Dean will shift back and they will never speak of this again. Sam presses a feather light kiss against Dean’s throat and holds his breath. Dean swallows and Sam’s lips track the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“Sam, we-“, Dean starts and Sam can hear the rejection in the words. It’s the same tone as when Sam had kissed Dean, standing next to the Impala asking him to come with him to California. Only this time Sam can hear what he as a hurt and scared 18 year old hadn’t. There is longing in Dean’s voice.

“We can”, Sam insists and his fingers are digging into Dean’s back. “You know this is right. It’s always been us”, Sam whispers and angles Dean’s head until they are inhaling the same air. He feels the rightness with every fiber of his being, but he won’t kiss him until Dean wants him to, until he says yes.

“We’re brothers, Sammy. It ain’t natural, izz not right”, whispers Dean and Sam can almost feel the movement of his mouth, they’re so close.

“Nothing in our lives is natural”, Sam argues. His blood is pumping so loudly he’s surprised Dean can’t hear it. “But this, this is us”, Sam says and plants a hand across Dean’s heart, can feel it beating just as hard. “And if this isn’t right, then I don’t want it”, he whispers and he’s thinking screw it, I’ll show him and then he’ll understand because he can’t take it anymore. The hairbreadth between them is like knives cutting into him.

He’s lucky, though, because he doesn’t have to. Dean’s mouth is crashing against his in a kiss so violent it is like an attack. Soft lips sealing themselves to Sam’s, teeth knocking together painfully, hot tongues twisting together. Their bodies are flush against each-other and Sam can feel Dean’s erection pressing against his hop bone.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy”, Dean is murmuring and Sam doesn’t know how he has air left to speak.

He’s gasping and pressing closer because if he lets go now he will probably die. Dean’s hands are groping at his butt and pushing their groins together and suddenly there is blessed _friction_. Sam hooks a hand around Dean’s thigh and lifts it above himself so there is room to move and Dean groans loudly.

“Yeah, yeah, Sammy”, Dean exhales and rocks forward.

An embarrassing whimper pushes out of Sam and he buries his face in Dean’s neck. There is a sudden shift in gravity and Sam is on his back. Confused, he stares up at Dean who is resting on his forearms, looking down at him. There is fire in his eyes and Sam doesn’t have enough time to get his bearings before Dean dives down and kisses him again.

Sam is never going to get used to the feeling of his brother’s mouth on his. His chest is so light it may not even be attached to his body anymore. He plants his hands on Dean’s ass and feels the muscle there work in a rhythmic manner as Dean grinds against him with patience Sam wishes he could apply during research instead of driving him mad from sexual frustration.

“Dea~n”, he whines and Dean trails down to his neck where he applies tongue like it’s going out of style.

He claws ineffectually at his back and a low rumble in Dean’s chest lets Sam know that it’s appreciated. Quite suddenly done with just lying and taking it, Sam plants himself steadily and hooks a foot around Dean’s leg, bends his elbow and smirks in satisfaction when he manages to flip them over. Dean grunts when Sam’s weight settles in over him.

“Teaches you not to dawdle”, Sam says and Dean chuckles.

“Ever heard of patience is the key to joy?” Dean asks and lets his hands roam over Sam’s front. He worries over the scars left there over the years, but Sam knows he has matching ones. It’s the life, nothing to be sad about. Instead he raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Yeah, okay, I get the irony of me saying that”, Dean huffs out and Sam kisses him.

His hair is hanging wildly around his face but Dean gently swipes it away and when their eyes meet there is a depth in there that forces a shiver down Sam’s back and he has to swallow against his dry throat. The space between them is too big. He bends down and sucks a bruise below his ear, feeling a desperate need to put his own brand on that skin, marked as it is already. Dean grips his hips and squeezes until Sam’s pretty sure he’ll be able to make out the points of his fingertips tomorrow.

“Sam”, Dean chokes out and Sam moans in response. “Sam, I need-“.

“Yeah, yeah, Dean, anything”, Sam says and pinches a nipple, nips at his collarbone. “Just tell me”, he chants and licks a trail from his breast to his throat. “What do you need?” he breathes.

Dean shudders against him, moans and strokes his hands up and down Sam’s thighs. “Touch me”, he says and Sam barely recognizes his voice.

He feels a thrill go down his spine as he strokes his brother’s erection through his underwear. He swallows the sound Dean makes and slips under the hem.

“Just let me make you feel good”, Sam murmurs and grips the shaft. He pulls up and down lazily a couple of times and swirls his thumb over the head.

Dean breathes out like the air has been punched from his gut and grips Sam’s shoulder with one hand and the sheets with the other. Sam stares at him, mesmerized. A blush is standing high on his cheeks, traveling all the way down to his chest where it cuts off abruptly.

He backs off and Dean protests loudly but Sam just motions for him to get the pants off. Dean scrambles to comply. When he lies back down, completely naked, Sam takes a minute to just look. Dean stares back at him, eyes hooded, licking his lips and Sam’s tongue peaks out to imitate the movement. After a little while Dean starts to get restless.

“Come on, Sam. I know I’m pretty but right now I need your hands on my dick or I’m gonna finish this way as I see fit”, he threatens and Sam grins.

“And how would you do that?” he challenges but doesn’t wait for a reply before he dives back in and wrap his hand around Dean’s cock again. “Would you put me on my back and take what’s yours?” he asks and squeezes just a little bit. Dean whines. “Maybe hold me down and just jack off until you come all over me?” His voice is coming out gruff because while his own member is quite ignored in these proceedings, it appears not to matter because Dean, panting, flushed and moaning is the most erotic thing Sam’s ever laid eyes on.

“No”, Dean protests. “Wou- Wouldn’t hold you down”, he struggles out and Sam feels his heart swell because of course Dean knows.

“I wouldn’t mind”, he murmurs in Dean’s ear. The air is moist and he plants a sweet kiss below his lobule, complete at odds with his hands doing filthy things with his brother’s dick. “If it were you, I wouldn’t mind.”

Dean shouts out a warning and comes all over his stomach and chest. Sam takes him through it, milking him, and kisses him. Dean’s tries to engage his tongue but he’s panting so wildly it’s more of a halfhearted wiggle. Sam loves him all the more for it.

At last he presses a hand to his own erection and it takes barely a few strokes to ejaculate, he’s already so worked up. He smashes down on Dean when all the strength leaves his muscles and ignores Dean’s wheezing protest. He’s apparently too heavy, though, because Dean shoves him off and Sam wants to laugh but he’s too busy convincing his lungs to stay in his body.

After a minute the sparkles behind his eyes have receded a bit and he cracks open an eye lid. Dean is looking back at him with wonder and Sam manages to pull him to himself. Dean makes a comment about their disgusting bodies when the come on their stomachs rub together but Sam’s too tired to care.

“T’mrr’w” he grunts and he’s pretty sure that word had more vowels in his mind but Dean settles down.

There is a little shuffling with the bedsheets and Sam gets hit by at least three elbows but none of that matters. He can smell sex in the air, gun oil, beer and bleach, but underneath it all is Dean’s own scent that makes Sam feel safe. No matter what the morning brings, they will face it together.

Wrapped around each-other in a tight embrace, they sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love <3
> 
> Also, check out my tumblr: http://whinchesters.tumblr.com/


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